


I'll be around

by llgf



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, I Tried, I don't really know what this is, because hey they know each other, frank and fisk stuff, just Frank being here?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 09:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llgf/pseuds/llgf
Summary: Leave, for a little while, whatever he has in New York. Frank would rather do that than taking pleasure in the smell of blood over again. It’s easier to be revengeful than to be a free man, but that’s exactly what Fisk wants. And shit, he was starting to believe in this after she was talking about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raving_liberal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/gifts).



Pete’s life is a cup of black coffee in the morning while listening to the radio. It’s grabbing the New York Bulletin on his way to work to read it during lunch, two sandwiches and another coffee.

He needs the routine, he needs it to fight the silence. Freedom’s silence. The silence of a man who has no more wars to fight but who still has rage boiling in his veins.

Pete’s hands are dry and blistered, dirt under his nails. Hard working man. No ammo in his pockets, but an evangelist flyer, because Pete Castiglione takes what’s handed to him as pretext to exist once again.

He knows he could simply put on the vest and go back to the war zone. The prospect of it is even reassuring, but getting involved means painting a white skull once again, it means forgetting his new life and the pardon.

It means seeing _her_ again but for the wrong reasons.

It means a lot of things that he can’t share to the veteran group.

So instead, he takes out his two triangle sandwiches and unfolds the New York Bulletin, tries to forget what it meant to be Frank Castle.

But they come, one day, walking in the dust with their varnished shoes, long coat and white handkerchiefs covering their mouths. Three cardboard replicas. Their shark teeth shine when they smile, even more so when they hand him a card and Frank asks "You’re some fancy lawyer?"

They puff out their chest, suddenly reminded of the crown on their heads. "Our client wishes to discuss with you."

Frank sneers, "Who’s that?"

"Wilson Fisk. You’re good friends, right?

Frank remembers an imposing man, wearing an orange jumpsuit. He remembers blood and shiv. He remembers getting out with two words from him, _release him._

Another man adds, "He is eager to working with you. Again."

"You owe him that."

Fisk wants a guard dog that barks and bites at his will. "I ain’t interested." He simply answers, handing the card back. Frank knows there are many wars in New York, and he has enough rage to fight all of them, but he has fought other people’s battles too many times before.

Kill your way to justice, he would tell him again. His justice.

The man doesn’t take back the card and doesn’t lose his smile, "We will keep in touch" he says, before leaving the construction site.

Frank grabs the newspaper again and bites into his sandwich.

* * *

Frank’s hands are red and shaking. 

There are two bodies near the diner he goes to every Thursday, because they shouted his name, and threw fists and knives. Because of Frank’s hands around one man’s skull, smashing it against the wall. Because of the other aggressor’s own knife deep in his neck.

He’s holding the phone and scrolls down his short list of contact.

K.

_Karen, I am leaving town for a while. Not business, or anything. Just don’t get into trouble, huh?_

But he doesn’t even press the green button.

Leave, for a little while, whatever he has in New York. Frank would rather do that than taking pleasure in the smell of blood over again. It’s easier to be revengeful than to be a free man, but that’s exactly what Fisk wants. And _shit_ , he was starting to believe in this _after_ she was talking about.

He asks Micro to keep an eye on her, and checks if there are flowers on her windowsill. He grabs some bills, the last Bulletin and a gun, and leaves with a promise and worries embed in his head.

Frank drives for hours but can’t go any further. There are some ties, and he’s stretching them to their limits. He can’t afford being further away from New York. He stops at a shitty motel at the North Carolina state’s border, big squared building, pale yellow and blue, surrounded by trees.

The owner is a nice man, who lets him stay for nothing if he plays handyman. The blood on his hands had disappeared and there are only smudges of black from fixing the plumbing. Frank changes the lightbulbs, fixes the AC and checks on the residents who are running away from some ghosts too. It keeps his mind out of things.

The waitress at the diner near calls him by his name and winks when she serves him coffee. It tastes bad and the eggs are overcooked but Frank still eats there every morning religiously. She hands him warm food and the local newspaper. They don’t have the New York Bulletin here, there’s no reassuring _Karen Page_ written in black letters.

Amy, a runaway teen who stays in the motel, told him he could read the Bulletin on the internet, but Frank has never been good with machines. He only asks her about what shit Karen has been digging into this time, and she only answers in front of a plate of pancakes.

"Who’s Karen Page anyway?" Amy asks one day, crossing her arms, with the confidence of a teen used to confronting adults. 

Frank turns his head to the window. He knows what she is _not,_ Karen. She is not an enemy. She is not bad or evil, but he knows she’s not an angel. She is scars and troubles. She is questions and answers. "She’s a good friend." Frank only says, and it almost doesn’t sound like a lie.

"Did you have sex with her?"

Sneering, Frank points at her plate full of pancakes and syrup, "Eat before it’s cold."

The way she smirks, he tries not to think too much about it, about how old his daughter would be today, if she would wear black nail polish, rings and bracelets like her. If she would try to push his buttons, with the typical teenager insolence.

One day, Amy tells him what’s on the first page of the Bulletin, "Fisk is out. He’s helping the FBI, or something."

Frank is not surprised, Fisk is too big of a man for jail, he told him himself. "Did Karen write anything about that?"

Amy shakes her head.

* * *

Frank keeps his gun near, always, waiting for more men to come banging at his door, ready to put the leash around his neck.

* * *

 

He learns it from Micro, one night, while he is sitting by the diner with a cup of coffee, looking at the imposing trees all around, not unlike the New York buildings. "There was an attack at the Bulletin," and Frank jumps off the bench, and starts pacing like a wild animal, his coffee spilled on the grass. 

He hears, before his ears start ringing, "Karen was there." Frank recognizes this feeling, it makes him clench his fists and jaw. It’s familiar. "She’s fine," Micro quickly adds, but it doesn’t stop the coldness, the panic spreading.

It’s more of a growl than words when he asks "What happened?"

"She went after Fisk."

Frank packs his bag hastily, taking with him only what is useful, and leaving for Amy some bills and an advice —  _this place ain’t your home, call your parents, go back to school_ — his phone number too. She brings her arm around him, whispers "Thank you."

Frank pats her shoulder and says "Take care."

Frank Castle leaves North Carolina, perhaps Pete stays.

He drives too fast but the journey back to New York is too long. Too long for Frank and his thoughts.

 _All heart_ , Karen Page, a muscle no one can control.

* * *

Frank opens one eye and doesn’t move. There’s a cross on Fisk’s head and he’s ready to shoot. The angle is wrong, the bullet could very well go through his skull and touch Karen. So he’s waiting, for a move, for a hand raised. He curses Karen, who’s attracted to troubles like insects to a bug zapper. He curses Fisk, he curses any threat to Karen. 

Fisk is standing, but before Frank can put a bullet in his skull, men come in, stops him and brings Karen out.

He could meet her, even call her. He would tell her to leave New York, to stay out of troubles, and remind her that if she doesn’t take care of herself, he’ll do it himself. If she knew he was here though, she would try to fix his problems before erasing the target she has painted on her forehead. She’s stubborn like that.

Instead, Frank decides to keep his sniper rifle pointing at Fisk’s window, to stay close to the bug zapper. He asks Micro to keep him posted about Karen’s moves every hour, every half hour if he can.

Micro tries to make it sound better than it is, "She’s hiding, Frank."

"And you lost her." Frank growls.

"She was -" David tries to defend himself, "Must have learned some things from you."

* * *

It’s a diversion, but he learns it too late. Men, with knives, clenched fists and willpower. Petty criminals, confidence fattened by Fisk’s money. No heavy weapons, no strategy. Just to keep him away from the Church where Karen is, caged and chased like a mouse. 

He has to use his left arm to call Micro because there’s a knife deep in his upper right arm.

"They think she escaped. But I am not sure she even got out."

"She could still be in the church ?" he asks, while holding tight to the knife, ready to pull it out.

"I don’t know, yeah, it’s possible."

"I gotta get in."

"Frank, you can’t. You do that, and there’s no pardon. No more Pete."

There probably never was any Pete, he thinks. It all seems fake, superficial now, to try to get back to a normal life, when even his name is fake. "I don’t give a shit."

* * *

Frank only sees a shadow of her. She’s being escorted by the NYPD and Frank doesn’t know if he should be reassured or not. 

"Shit," he mutters, pacing back and forth down the street by the church. He holds his wrist, it’s shaking, because if anything happens to her -

Fisk knows he’s here, he most likely has someone looking after him. He still doesn’t get why he’s only sending some bullies. Fisk does what he did in jail, feeding the dogs until they bite. Maybe that’s what he wants from him.

Frank takes his phone and scrolls down his list of contacts. It’s a simple K.

He presses the green button this time. It’s her voice mail and it makes it easier for him to say, "Karen. I need to know if you’re ok. Stay safe, ok? Stay away from Fisk and from troubles. I’ll be around. Always."


	2. Chapter 2

Frank knocks on her door and immediately hides his hands in his pockets, as if there was blood on them still. In his pockets, a small knife, money, no brochures. Pete is gone.

He stayed away from Karen for too long, never too far, just enough. He was near the crowd of journalists when she made her declaration, near the shit hole Murdock brought her to. Never too far, even if it didn’t feel that way.

He can’t explain what made him knock on her door.

"Frank," she whispers, and she puts her arms around him. No matter if it is shame and blood embed in his hands, he still cradles her neck and holds her closer.

It’s a long embrace, Frank closes his eyes, takes her in, alive. Karen steps back opens her door wider. All heart, Karen Page, a muscle he can’t control.

Karen says the flowers from last time are dead, that she forgot to water them, that she still has the pot somewhere, and the mold is dry. "I didn’t hear from you" she says, handing him a bottle of beer "I wanted to put the flower out -" she adds but never finish her sentence.

"A lot happened."

"Yeah." Karen sips on her beer and sits down on her couch.

He sits beside her, carefully. He had been forced to watch her from afar for too long, too far for him to see if there was cuts or bruises on her face. He doesn’t find any.

Karen bites her lips and shakes her head, she wants to say something but doesn’t dare to. "Kare - "

"Where were you?" Frank can’t tell what’s in her voice, if it’s reproach or worries, maybe a bit of both.

"I was gone for a while." He doesn’t tell her why, though. "I came back as soon as I could." His mouth ticks as he says, "Wasn’t fast enough." He takes a sip of his beer, trying to swallow down his guilt, "I tried to keep you safe. I put on the vest, Karen."

"I didn’t want you to."

"I had Fisk. Could have shot him. But I didn’t want to —» To disappoint her, maybe. "I would do it again. Better." Frank admits easily, "I need to." He doesn’t tell her how good it felt to hold a sniper, to fight, taking his mind out of things.

"Need what? To put on the vest? To be the Punisher?"

"No," he almost shouts, standing "I need to protect you, Karen. I can’t lose —"He’s cut off by his own treacherous mind, playing tricks on him, making him see images he doesn’t want to see.

"I don’t want to be the reason for your actions, Frank."

"But you were. Working, the veteran group. Trying to be this normal guy. You were behind everything Karen." Frank looks at her, "Fighting loneliness, remember?"

Karen nods and finishes her beer. She passes a hand on her mouth, then eyes, now rimmed with red. He could have missed it, if he wasn’t so close, so focused. "I thought I needed you." Karen whispers. "I called my dad, and —"She stops, "I wanted to call you, but I was right not to."

"Why?"

"For what you said. The vest, the Punisher. I didn’t want you to go back to that. I didn’t want you to do it because of me." Karen stands up, takes two steps to the kitchen and puts her two hands on the counter.

"I should have been there, shit Karen, if anything had happened to you —"

"I am fine," she says, turning around and leaning against the counter, trying to give him a smile despite her eyes still red. "Nothing happened to me."

Hard headed woman who only lies about herself. That one is the biggest. Frank might not know everything about her, but she has the hard eyes of someone who fought many battles. She has always been virtuous but not guiltless.

"Fisk tried to get you killed. I’m gonna find this shitty copy of Red, and make him regret ever going after you." She seems ready to scold him, with that way of hers, a frown and carefully chosen words, but he doesn’t let her, "That’s what I do. What I need to do. Protect people I care about, ok?"

Karen raises her hand and replies, "You’re so stubborn, Frank."

"Look who’s talking."

Karen has a small smile, right there, then a long sigh. He has a lot of questions, why she went after Fisk and if that’s a hint of purple he can see on her cheekbone. He hopes they’ll have the time for that.

"You know, I sometimes wished you killed him. Fisk. I wished _I_ killed him."

Frank frowns, clenches his jaw. Not because he believes she couldn’t, but because she could have.

Karen adds, "Not my first rodeo, remember?"

So much left to unwrap about Karen Page — he hopes they’ll have the time for that.

"By the way," she goes to her desk, puts her hair behind her ear and digs in the drawer. "I had to change my phone number."

She writes something down and hands him a post it with her new phone number. "Easier than flowers."

Frank promises he will call her. Another promise, just like the message she never got.

He takes a step forward and takes her in his arms, "Take care, Karen. Stay out of trouble." Frank kisses her cheek, exactly where he thought he saw the bruise.

He puts the post-it in his breast pocket, hides his hands in his pockets.

* * *

Frank’s new life is unlike Pete’s. It’s picking his own battles — his name is Poindexter, Fisk’s dog; Billy, and nightmares. But it’s also beers and pizzas every Thursday, it’s lipstick stains on a coffee cup. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for being this late, I hope you liked it. It's not quite what you asked but I hope it's ok. And I wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!


End file.
